


Echoes from the Past

by thefontbandit



Series: Silver & Gold [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Family Reunions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, finally the mutual pining and angst comes to an end, which is why there are new characters for additional angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefontbandit/pseuds/thefontbandit
Summary: Amidst the hunt for Kashek Adaar's long-lost sister, Dorian makes a final resolution regarding the Inquisitor. Cullen's past comes back to haunt him in the form of Savra Adaar, and a long-awaited family reunion occurs.





	Echoes from the Past

**Author's Note:**

> The amulet mentioned here first appeared in part 5 of this series, "Heirloom". Savra is first mentioned in part 6, "Carved in Stone".

"You wish me to investigate _what_?" The Spymaster's voice is as lilting and pleasant as ever, but laden with incredulity.

Dorian repeats himself. "A Qunari girl, a mage, who went missing in the southern Marches or northern Ferelden some twelve years ago."

"That is... a difficult task, Lord Pavus." Leliana looks up from the papers on her desk, her pale gaze piercing. "Who is this girl?"

Dorian hesitates. It feels wrong coming to the Spymaster like this. It's not his secret to tell. But it is necessary.

"Kashek's sister."

Leliana's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "When we asked the Inquisitor about family, he told us his mother was his only relative."

"He believes his sister died long ago." Dorian sighs. "But what if she did not?"

"We cannot use our precious resources on a wild goose chase. You know this."

Dorian plays his best bargaining chip. Now or never. "What if she is still alive, still using the surname Adaar? How long until an enemy finds her and uses her against us?" He takes another step toward the desk, ignoring the startled caw of a raven as he ventures too close to its cage. "Neither of us are novices at this game, Spymaster. If she is alive, others will find out, and she will become their weapon." Dorian raises an eyebrow at her. "After all, I assume you have agents watching over his mother?"

Her silence is reply enough.

Dorian lowers his voice. "If nothing else, it eats at him. On the chance she did meet with some misfortune, the closure may ease his mind and increase his focus." He gestures to the map on her table with one hand. "I can give you their last known location and their destination, if that helps."

Leliana watches him with clever eyes for a few moments. "It is a thin rationale with no new clues to suggest the girl lives. But I suspect you know that. I can promise only this. I will alert my agents travelling in that region to keep an ear out for any clues while on their missions. I cannot divert them from their true tasks without more information." Her mouth lifts in a sad sort of smile. "I care for the Inquisitor's happiness too, you know. It may not seem as such, but I consider him a friend. However, our cause must be my foremost concern."

It is as much as Dorian had hoped for, really. "Thank you," he nods and turns to walk away, but pauses. "I will write up what I know of her last location and intended route, as well as any other information I have. I... I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to him unless we find something. It may come to nothing."

"There is little use in bringing up the topic unless we find new information," she agrees with a small nod. She leans back over the desk, sorting scraps of notes and missives into several stacks.

As he reaches the first step down to the library, Leliana calls out, her voice soft but still carrying in the echoing rookery. "Lord Pavus?"

"Yes?" He stops, one hand on the wall, and turns his head. She still looks down at her work, but her words are careful and pointed.

"About the Inquisitor. You say we are both no stranger to games, but I think you have forgotten a possible stratagem in the grand scheme of things. A secret is a hidden dagger, a danger with its hilt toward the enemy. But if you bare the blade of such a secret, it becomes your own weapon to wield. It can be a tool of brute force, a challenge that must be confronted. One that sorts ally from foe." She glances up and her eyes meet his, icy blue and calculating. Yet a soft smile touches the corners of her lips. "It is a strategy the Inquisition could exploit, when the time comes for Celene's peace talks."

Dorian's breath halts, his hand gripping the edge of the doorway tightly. The Spymaster is too cunning to speak bluntly, but he understands her meaning all too clearly.

It would be a bold move, she is all too correct in that. To openly declare a relationship with the Inquisitor would be sheer scandal, a Tevinter snake in the Inquisitor's bed. But Leliana's words remind him there are perhaps some strategic benefits to such a ploy, after all. it would force a reaction of some sort from their allies, responses that Leliana could sort and decipher for precious information. It may galvanize neutral parties who have been silent thus far into speaking out.

He'd only thought of himself as a liability, a factor that could ruin alliances. Yet perhaps the chaos and gossip they would sow are even more valuable to the Inquisition, in the right hands.

He swallows back the dry lump in his throat. "And why discuss such strategy with me, rather than the Inquisitor?" he asks, proud of how nonchalant his voice sounds.

"Because the Inquisitor has already made his decision," she says simply. "And he does not understand the risks, not fully. You do, so the choice becomes your burden to bear."

A heavy weight the Spymaster has laid on his shoulders. Maybe it is a small bit of vengeance for the task he has left at her door. For a few moments, he cannot respond, trying to sort through the possibilities rationally while another part of his mind shouts at him to run to Kashek this very moment.

"Perhaps it is something to think on?" Leliana suggests, her musical voice holding the weight of all her cunning behind it.

"Perhaps," he manages to utter before he slips down the stairs to the safety of the library.

 

* * *

 

"Kaffas," Dorian swears under his breath as the gemstone flares with a sickly green light and goes dim again. Frustrated, he drops the amulet onto the desk and sinks his head wearily into his hands.

Why isn't the blasted thing cooperating? The artifact has behaved strangely ever since they arrived back at Skyhold. It's intensely infuriating, now that he finally has the time to study it.

He can't fail. Not now, not when the Inquisitor's well-being is on the line. Kashek hides it well, but when he thinks no one is looking, the Inquisitor is prone to flexing his hand with a grimace of pain or gently massaging his left palm with his right hand.

This amulet is too important not to unravel its puzzles.

When the rest of their companions returned from their long journey after Adamant, Dorian had even swallowed his pride and consulted with Skyhold's other mages.

Solas had been little help. The elf kept the amulet for a night to investigate it, then returned it with the opinion that Dorian's idea was a fruitless one. Solas claimed the talisman would be useless when it came to helping slow the growth of the Anchor that was slowly destroying Kashek from within.

Still, Dorian refuses to give up. Vivienne had called in favors to borrow or purchase obscure texts on Veil tears and liminal spaces. She'd even stayed up late into the night with him, poring over tomes of tiny, faded writing for any scrap of useful information. When Dorian's mind had become painfully, distractingly full and his notes started to make little sense, she shooed him out of the cozy, dim chamber out to her parlor above the throne room. There, she poured some rather excellent brandy and challenged him to a game of chess over idle gossip, to clear his head of the formulae that crowded it.

Fiona had been wary of the object, but offered to seek out information that may help, occasionally dropping off tomes of obscure lore at his doorstep.

It's now been two weeks since they returned to Skyhold, and ten days since his conversation with the Spymaster. In an act of cowardice, he'd thrown himself into studying the artifact rather than pondering her words. Dorian knows what Kashek would say if he approached the Inquisitor with her idea. Leliana was right about that. Lacking all caution for the greater chess game, the Inquisitor would undoubtedly say yes. So the responsibility of weighing the pros and cons of the strategy fall to Dorian instead. Can he, in good conscience, commit the entire Inquisition to this move in the game solely for his own selfishness?

Would he have the strength to attend Celene's peace talks, two months from now, and stand at the Inquisitor's side?

He hasn't decided yet, and so he immerses himself in his research. Yet the artifact still refuses to divulge its secrets. Away from the Inquisitor, it behaves oddly, and he's reluctant to test it in the field near a true rift.

Not that Dorian has been out on any missions lately. These ten days have seen him holed up in his room, surrounded by the chaos of books stacked dangerously high and his haphazard notes scattered on every available surface.

The knock on his door startles him.

"Come in."

It's Varric who enters, throwing the door open wide to let in the afternoon sunlight. "Just checking to make sure you're alive," he says. He tilts his head sideways to read the spines of a row stacked on a shelf. "You've turned this place into a dungeon, Sparkler."

Dorian sniffs at the dwarf's comment. "I have a task to do."

"Well, it's a task that can wait an evening. I'm declaring your official pardon from the study dungeon. Come with me."

"Is it important?"

"Vitally so," Varric replies gravely, gesturing for Dorian to follow as he leaves.

Anxiety settles over Dorian. _What now?_ He wonders as he closes the door and falls into step beside Varric.

 

* * *

 

"This is not vitally important," Dorian grumbles when they enter the Herald's Rest. The hour is late, and most of the patrons have dispersed for the evening. A fire roars in the hearth, and cards scatter a central table along with coins and mugs of ale. Bull's head is thrown back in a bellow of laughter at some bit of conversation when they enter. It appears everyone is here, advisors and companions both.

Kashek sits at the table beside Cassandra, smiling at whatever was just said. His eyes flicker up toward the door when Dorian walks in, and their gazes meet. The Inquisitor's smile falters for a moment, but he gives Dorian a warm grin a second later.

This time, Dorian has not avoided Kashek as he did after Saturnalia. But there is still a heavy weight between them when they meet, the uncomfortable burden of things left forever unsaid. They have not spent time together aside from brief, businesslike interactions in public. This setting, the intimately cozy room with the warm fire and drink and laughter... it's something Dorian has been painfully careful to avoid with Kashek. It hurts too much, still.

"I found the last one," Varric declares as they enter. "Deal us in." To Dorian, he gives a mischievous grin and says more quietly. "Team-building exercises are important, Sparkler."

"I'm fairly certain this is just gambling," Dorian scoffs, but follows Varric in resignation. It would be rude to just leave now. He steels himself, settles his usual rakish smile on his face, and takes the only open seat left, directly across from Kashek. Varric fetches a stool from a corner and elbows Blackwall with a friendly grin to make room.

The evening is a memorable one, the worries of the Inquisition tossed aside for a time of camaraderie and friendly rivalry.

A hour or two into the game, as the fuzzy relaxation of the alcohol starts to sink in, Dorian realizes something. Elsewhere in Skyhold, he still merits suspicious glances and sidelong whispers. But here among this company, he is just another part of this haphazard family. Varric teases him with jibes as much as anyone else, Vivienne shares verbal barbs that are more a game than true venom, and Cole bungles a joke when trying to recite it proudly to Dorian.

He's been with the Inquisition nearly a year, the last to join except Cole. And though it's the most mismatched group of people he's ever met, they've made themselves a family despite their differences.

And he's a part of it, accepted and included just as he is.

For a moment, a strange swell of pride and affection fills him. A stinging pressure builds behind his eyes, and he blinks it away.

Of all the things he'd expected of the Inquisition, this had never been on the list. He'd joined out of a sense of duty, a need to correct Alexius's grave mistake, a plot of which Dorian had helped build the foundation. And more, he knew the Inquisition's cause was just.

But he'd expected to be left on the social fringes as ever before, neither fish nor fowl, not fit for Tevinter and ostracized in Ferelden.

Dorian had never thought to hope for this. Not the warmth of Josephine's clear laughter at one of his jests, or Sera pushing another mug at him when she noticed his was empty.

And he'd certainly never planned on meeting someone quite like Kashek, had never expected to fall for anyone, much less a Qunari.

He glances up from his cards to find the Inquisitor watching him thoughtfully, a small smile on his lips that is more mournful than happy. He's only across the table, an arm's length away, but it seems so much farther.

 _He doesn't have to be,_ his traitorous thoughts remind him, mulling over Leliana's thinly-veiled suggestion. _You could have it all._

At what cost? They would lose allies, but might also flush out any that were serpents lying in wait to bring the Inquisition down. He had no alliances to bring to balance out those they would undoubtedly lose.

There would be a sort of scandalous novelty about the situation that might actually attract a handful of more daring allies. Those that sought adventure and courted danger would see something brash and bold in aligning themselves with the upstart Qunari and his Tevinter lover. They could also court those who wished to make alliances in Tevinter, never mind that he could not provide them. Josephine could, and they need not know it was her hidden hand that made those connections.

There are many paths, many risks. Too many to consider while slowly getting drunk during a night of gaming. He pushes down the worries that crowd his head, takes another long swig of his beer, and gives Kashek a brittle smile as he draws another card.

 

* * *

 

While summarizing a report for his fellow advisors during their morning meeting, Cullen stops speaking mid-sentence. His eyes focus on the slip of paper at the top of the stack in front of Leliana. His mouth goes dry.

"What is it, Commander?" Josephine asks.

He stares at the words scrawled hastily on the page, willing them to say something else.

_Qunari mage, female_

_Would currently be abt 24yo_

_White hair, pink eyes, dk gray skin, fwd-curving horns_

_May still go by the name Savra_

_Last seen 9:18 Dragon in Wildervale, traveling south to Ferelden with two Qunari mercenaries_

"Commander?" Leliana asks, puzzled eyes glancing between him and the slip of paper.

Cullen finds his voice, though it comes out rough. "What is this?" He points at the paper, afraid to touch it as if the words may burn him.

"It's something I wanted to mention. Lord Pavus brought it to my attention that the Inquisitor has a long-lost sister, presumed dead. But if she is alive, she could be used against us. I have not allocated specific resources for the search. It may be fruitless. But I will tell my agents in the field to discreetly seek word while on their missions."

Cullen closes his eyes and wipes his face wearily with one hand. "There's no need. I know where she is. Or where she was two years ago." He sighs. "There was a Qunari by that description in the Gallows when Kirkwall's Circle fell."

He'd known this would happen someday, or at least something like it. It was always there, the hound nipping at his heels. Cullen's past would come back to haunt him. He'd thought his reckoning had come in the form of Samson, but this is so much worse.

"Cullen," Leliana begins, her voice soft but full of horror. She, too, realizes the implications of this. "Perhaps it would be best if you explain."

He grits his teeth. "There's little enough to be said. A young Qunari apostate was captured and brought to Kirkwall a year before the Arishok set up camp on the docks. When he arrived, we kept her well-hidden for fear it would agitate the tension between the Arishok's people and the rest of Kirkwall." Cullen rests his hand on his sword hilt, staring down at the accusatory letters in thick black ink. "She was there when the chaos broke out, and she had fled by the time order was restored. That's all I know."

The women stare at him with piercing eyes. They both know. It's common knowledge now, how bad the situation truly was in the Gallows. The Inquisitor had asked Cullen once about his involvement in Kirkwall's Circle, and he'd answered honestly. Cullen had known what was happening behind those locked doors, deep down. He'd suspected the abuses of power, but looked the other way. They'd all been so steeped in Meredith's zealotry that none had questioned.

 _Mages aren't people,_ he'd once said. Words he would take back, if he could, though at the time he'd believed them. After Kinloch Hold, he'd truly feared and hated them all.

They still frighten him. To deny it would be a lie. Magic is dangerous, and there is no amount of reassurance that will convince him otherwise.

But that is a poor excuse for what was done to many of the mages in his charge.

To the Inquisitor's own sister.

Though her torment had been different. The Templars feared a Qunari mage even more than their usual charges, and she had been kept in solitary confinement for much of her time there. Only Orsino himself and a scant few trusted Enchanters had overseen her education, such as it was.

Had the other Templars feared her enough to spare her of the worst abuses heaped on the other apprentices? Or had it only made them more cruel? He'd never asked. Part of him hadn't wanted to know, at the time.

Now he does, and he dreads the answer.

Josephine clears her throat and scribbles nervously on her ever-present board. "This does complicate things."

"We cannot tell him," Leliana says quietly. "Not yet. When she is found, if she is found, we will discuss it then." She shuffles her papers into a neat stack and stands. "Right now, this is a lead I must follow. Pardon me, but I need to send some ravens."

Cullen watches her go while a cold lump of dread settles in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

"Have you been to your rooms lately? There's something there you should see." Dorian's heart pounds, a furious drumbeat against his chest. But he's proud of the way his voice remains casually dismissive. He glances sidelong at Kashek but can't bear to try looking at the man's face. Cowardly, he returns his gaze to the bookshelf, pretending to look for something specific.

"Oh? I need to speak with Leliana, but I'll look soon." The Inquisitor's voice is curious, but he doesn't follow up the comment, but nods and turns away. His steps are reluctant though, as if he's waiting for Dorian to call him back.

Small chance of that. It took nearly all of Dorian's courage to make the simple comment. Can Kashek see how his hand trembles as his finger runs down the spines of the books on the shelf?

The Inquisitor's steps echo on the stone as he leaves, and Dorian breathes a small sigh. As soon as the Inquisitor's footsteps lead him up the stairs, Dorian slips away from the alcove in the library.

His pulse beats frantically in his ears, drowning out all other sound. This is foolishness. But he can no longer resist. Leliana's offer is too tempting a plum. Perhaps it's weakness to want everything, but he can no longer ignore his heart.

As quietly as possible, he leaves the library while Kashek enters the rookery. Dorian walks through the throne room with a confidence he does not feel, and slips through the door to the Inquisitor's rooms. Unlocked. Kashek is still too trusting.

He paces there for an hour or maybe more. Afternoon starts to fade into evening, the cool wintry sunlight turning to periwinkle blue and lavender as the sun sets. He lights a lantern with the flick of a hand, adding a warmer golden cast to the airy tower chambers.

This is foolish. It's rash and utterly insane. Dorian paces about the Inquisitor's rooms for a time before sitting on the edge of Kashek's bed. Even this seems like too much, like an intrusion.

Why so anxious? This is an old game. Seduction should not worry him.

But this time it is so much more. More than physical, more than a simple craving for touch. Reluctant as he is to admit such things, there are emotions involved, woven deeply into what Dorian is about to do.

He admits that now, if only to himself. There is love here. He loves the Inquisitor, deeply and without reservation. It's something he never expected to feel, never wanted to. But it happened, and there's little use in denying it anymore. Not when Leliana has given him such a tempting way out of his self-imposed walls.

He stands, restless energy making him fidget. Pacing before the hearth, he lets the warmth of its burning fire soak into his bones as the evening chill settles in.

The door below opens, and Dorian turns away from the fire, forcing his hands to rest at his sides instead of clasping them together in nervousness.

Kashek emerges from the stairs, his expression one of mild curiosity.

He glances about the chambers, realizes they are the same. His eyes rest on Dorian in confusion.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, still standing near the top of the steps.

"No." Dorian shakes his head and clears his throat, taking a step closer to Kashek. "For once, something might go right."

Kashek's confusion deepens, his brows drawing down over his eyes. "Dorian, what is this about?"

Time to take this leap, then. Dorian takes a long breath, looking up into Kashek's eyes. "Us."

The Inquisitor glances away, takes a small step back into the stair railing. "I thought there wasn't an 'us' anymore." He stares hard at the floor, his hands clenched at his sides. "That's what you decided." His words could be accusatory, harsh, but his voice is merely tired and broken.

"I know." Dorian takes another step closer, still more than an arm's length away. "I thought I could handle it, that I could live with that choice if it was for the greater good." He pauses, swallowing back the lump of terror that forms in the back of his throat at what he's about to say. What if Kashek has had enough of Dorian's wavering by now?

_What if he doesn't want me back?_

Heart beating so fiercely that he can barely hear his own words for the pounding in his ears, Dorian speaks. "The Spymaster spoke to me. She said that the Inquisition could use our... alliance, if we chose it. That it could help our cause."

Kashek glances up at the words, his expression guarded, a dark shadow veiling the dim hope in his gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, but Dorian cuts him off. He has to say this now, before his courage falters.

"It was the last barrier," he says. "I can't bear this any longer." He takes another step closer, and lets the words spill from his lips, the ones he's wanted to say for so long. "I want to be with you. Completely."

For a few long moments, they stare at each other in silence, and Dorian's heart skips a beat.

"Dorian," Kashek says softly, moving a bit closer. His gaze is still wary, guarded. "Is it for good, this time?" His golden-green eyes are dark with conflicting emotions. "Please don't torment me if it's not. I can't watch you walk away again."

Dorian takes the final step to close the distance between them and tilts his head up to look into the Qunari's eyes. "I won't, not this time. I'm done running, Kashek. For good."

Later, he couldn't say which of them moved first, but the kiss is like cool, clean water over parched lips, like finally curling up beneath warm blankets in bed after a long day. Walls crumble. In some ways, it's a surrender.

It's coming home.

Everything that happens after that is as effortless as breathing. There is a tenderness to the Inquisitor, a sweetness that's so sharp it's nearly painful. It's unlike every lover Dorian has had before, and it's almost enough to break him.

Afterward, they fall asleep curled together under the heavy blankets, exhausted and content. Dorian doesn't awaken until the first rays of dawn light begin to flood the chamber.

 

* * *

 

"You can't make me do this," Dorian tries his most imperious tone on the Spymaster.

Unsurprisingly, she is unfazed. "I cannot. But I do ask it of you. I will tell him if you will not, but it may be easier coming from you."

 _Or it could ruin everything, when we've finally found some peace._ The thought is bitter, but Leliana has a point.

"It will be difficult news for the Inquisitor," the Spymaster says gently. "Good news that she is alive and on her way to Skyhold. But we must also confront the ugly truth of her confinement and Cullen's hand in it."

"Confinement," Dorian repeats the word with derision. "Such a courteous word. Everyone knows what really happened in the Gallows, Spymaster. The news even reached Tevinter. Another tale of the Southern Chantry that well-heeled Tevinter society could scoff at. Kirkwall's Circle was the worst sort of prison. We've all glossed over the Commander's role in that mess, but Kashek will not ignore this. He'll be crushed. If he's even capable of true fury, this will push him to it."

"I'm aware of that, Lord Pavus," Leliana says dryly. "That is why you may be the only one who can truly talk to him about this. He will listen to you. You can calm him."

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian swears. "You owe me for this, Leliana."

"I do." The words are a pact of sorts, and they are enough. With a heavy heart, Dorian leaves the Spymaster to seek out Kashek. Best to get this over with.

 

* * *

 

Kashek asks Dorian to repeat himself twice. The mage had appeared at his chamber door late into the evening, past the hour when much of Skyhold was already abed. Of course Kashek had been awake, going over maps and planning their trip to the Shrine of Dumat.

Kashek's heart lifts at the sight of Dorian on the other side of the door. With a small smile, he pulls the mage through the doorway and shuts it. Dorian leans into his arms and greets him with a kiss, but it is hesitant.

Kashek breaks the kiss, puzzled. When he looks down into Dorian's face, the mage's pained and grave expression makes Kashek's heart skip a beat.

_Please no, not again. I can't hear you say goodbye one more time._

Perhaps he's too easy to read, or maybe the mage also knows this dance all too well. He reassures Kashek with a bittersweet smile. "It's not that. But I have something else I must discuss with you. Preferably not on a drafty, rickety stairwell."

Though he's desperate to know what news would worry Dorian so, Kashek leads the way up the stairs. They sit on the divan near the top of the stairwell. This time, it is Dorian who reaches out to take Kashek's hand in both of his own.

"I have both good and bad news," he says quietly.

Kashek's heart begins to race. What is it now? Who is in trouble this time?

Dorian is silent for a moment, as if he's trying to find the right words. "Your sister is alive," he blurts out finally.

While Kashek gapes at him trying to process this information, he keeps speaking.

"She is alive, and found. One of Leliana's agents accompanies her to Skyhold now."

"Savra." Kahsek's hand reaches up instinctively to grasp his sister's seashell pendant. His eyes begin to burn and he feels suddenly dizzy. "How?"

"That's the bad news," Dorian says quietly. "She was trapped in Kirkwall's Circle until it fell nearly two years ago." His fingers clasp Kashek's tightly.

It takes Kashek a few moments to connect the dots in his current state. Kirkwall's Circle. The Gallows. The awful, inhumane prison that started the mage rebellion. His vision swims red for a moment.

"Cullen." The name is a low growl.

"...Yes." Dorian's voice is gentle, perhaps an attempt to soothe him. "He was there."

A tension builds within Kashek, a trebuchet winched tighter and tighter, ready to spring. Cullen was one of the people who took Savra from him, Templars plucking a child from safety and dragging her to that prison. Had they killed the warriors sent along to protect his sister? They must have.

Dorian hisses in a sharp breath, and Kashek realizes his fingers have tightened around the mage's. Startled, he loosens his grip.

It immediately de-fangs his building anger. "I'm sorry," he draws his hand away. His thoughts still swirl madly into panic, a buzzing hive of bees in his mind.

"I know," Dorian says, shaking his hand for a moment but reaching out again immediately after. His fingertips are as cool as ever, his touch gentle where he twines their hands together. Dorian's thumb absently runs back and forth over his knuckles, soothing the sharpest edges of his agitation.

"He can't stay, Dorian," Kashek is weary, his voice sounding strained even to himself. "She's family."

"It may come to that decision," Dorian murmurs. "I know how you feel, but Cullen is an integral part of the Inquisition. We may need to keep them both here, for now, for the greater good."

"I don't think I can look him in the eye anymore," Kashek growls. He feels sick to his stomach. Varric told him what it was like in the Gallows, what had compelled Anders to act so rashly. The place was full of torments Kashek doesn't even want to put into words, not even in his own mind.

Cullen had admitted as much to him once, that he regretted his role in the state of Kirkwall's Circle, that he let his fear and anger consume him.

But that was when those victims were poor, nameless strangers. Unfortunate and tragic, yes, but now a slow simmering fury bubbles in his gut and won't go away. Savra. Still a child when she left, growing up in that pit of anguish under Meredith's thumb. Ten years of abuse, almost half her life.

And he hadn't saved her. He hadn't known, of course, but that made little difference now. He should have searched harder. She was right under their noses. He'd sent that letter to the Gallows pretending to be a human scholar researching Qunari magic, but had received no response. Why had he just given up at that?

Suddenly, a thought strikes him.

"How did Leliana find her?"

Dorian's fingers grow very still. When he responds, his voice is heavy. "Me. I told her to look." He glances away, starts to pull his hand back. "I'm sorry. I know it was not my secret to tell, but I worried that she might still be alive, somewhere. And I knew that if anyone could find her, the Inquisition's Spymaster--" He stops talking suddenly, closing his mouth and clenching his jaw firmly.

Maybe Kashek should be angry, but that's not the emotion that fills him.

Dorian had gone to Leliana for his sake, for Savra's. And she is found, on her way here. Safe.

Because of Dorian.

Kashek sighs, takes Dorian hand once more, and smiles softly. "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

The door opens too quickly, swinging wide before slamming shut. From where he waits by the hearth in his chambers, Kashek hold his breath. He'd agreed that Savra's arrival should be kept a relative secret, just another mage among Skyhold's bustling population. The scout accompanying her would bring her here, where they could meet in privacy first.

He's been standing here for hours, watching the fire burn low, knowing she would arrive today.

 _Will she hate me?_ He wonders. _Does she blame me for her capture, for everything she's suffered?_

The tread up the steps is steady, confident, heavy boots on the creaking wooden stairs. When she comes into view, he's startled into silence, his greeting dying on his lips.

_She looks just like mother._

The rose-colored eyes are their father's, dead of a fever when Kashek was still small and Savra just a baby. But in every other way, she resembles his mother. Her height the same as his own, the squared shoulders and stocky build. The curve of her nose, the curl of her horns, the startlingly white shock of hair, even the crooked smile.

She's garbed simply, in a faded cotton tunic and trousers of simple leather, her boots worn and scuffed but serviceable. Peeking up over one shoulder is the head of the staff strapped to her back, heavy wood polished to a dark shine with a cloudy gray gem affixed to it.

"Nice digs," she declares, one eyebrow raised. "Love all the expensive, bare-assed statues in particular. Maybe Ser Bossypants Funkiller has gotten a sense of humor while I was gone?"

Kashek still can't seem to make his tongue form speech. The childhood nickname brings back a flood of memoris and the truth hits him hard. She's here, really here, and alive, and smiling. Kashek crosses the distance between them and pulls her into a crushing hug.

"Oomph, you're smooshing me," she growls, but hugs him back. After a few moments, she pushes him away, looking him up and down. "Fancy," she notes. "Silk? Really?"

Kashek feels the blush heating his cheeks. Dorian had selected this shirt, a black one trimmed in silver with a leather vest the color of a cloudy sky.

She laughs, tossing back her head in a contagious bray of a sound. "So not everything has changed," she smirks at him. "You still turn red as a rose blossom at the slightest teasing. Good to know." Still grinning, she glances around the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you were an imposter. Swanky clothes, velvet curtains, giant bronze naked Qunari statues in the hall..." she raises an eyebrow at him while her voice trails off.

"Those... are a long story."

 

* * *

 

"Knight-Captain," Savra spits the title out of her mouth and it tastes like poison, bitter and stinging on her tongue.

He stands on the opposite side of the table, flanked by two Inquisition soldiers. Templars, judging from the way they watch her movements, wary for any sign of magic. And yet she can feel her connection to the Fade's energy still untethered, for now.

Fueled by her boiling fury, the magic swirls inside her like storm clouds blackening a summer sky. Her hand itches, desperate to lash out at the man standing there, so stoic and still as a statue. His armor gleams beneath the overcoat embroidered in rich gold embellishment and trimmed in thick, dark fur. Looking so regal and imperious, Savra loathes all of it as she stands in her worn, rough tunic and threadbare boots.

Still, he fears her. She can see it in his eyes. Her fingers twitch, eager to strike him down in fire and lightning, freeze his blood to solid ice, smash him into a paste with crushing force. It's the slightest motion, a flexing of her fingertips and a sneer on her lips, but the soldiers beside Cullen take a half step forward, one lowering his hand to the hilt of the blade at his hip.

The former Knight-Captain's eyes focus on her hand for a moment, his eyes widening slightly, but she forces herself to relax it. If Savra thought she could get away with it, she'd risk both her brother's anger and the sentence it would bring her to take Cullen down. But she'd never manage to complete the spell before the Templars at his side snuffed out the magic and restrained her.

She doesn't stand alone. Kashek is at her side, arms crossed and silent. The Inquisition's Ambassador and Spymaster stand at either end of the table between them, both watching warily.

So instead of throwing a spell, Savra snarls at Cullen. "Nothing to say, Templar?"

"I'm not a Templar anymore." His voice is steady, but his eyes still betray his fear of her, a tension around their edges, slightly too wide. Good. He should be afraid, like the mages he was sworn to protect. They lived every day of their lives steeped in a miasma of dread and misery.

"You still look like one," she retorts. "So high and mighty, so fucking calm and content. Did you ever lose a single night's sleep over what your men did to the apprentices? Did we even have names to you, or were we miserable cattle, nameless and inhuman?"

He winces, breaking her stare to glance at the floor.

Savra continues,merciless. "I know their names, if you do not. Eilana." Savra hurls the name like a dagger, taking a slow step forward. "She was one of the few Enchanters you allowed teach me. Or at least she was once, until she begged to be made Tranquil, unable to endure the thought of bearing her Templar tormenter's child." Savra takes another step, leans her palms on the edge of the War Table to lean as close as they'll allow her. "That was four months before the Gallows fell. She died in the battle, still heavy with child. I watched her die."

Cullen is silent, but doesn't flinch away. He meets her gaze again, and his eyes are haunted. Good. Kashek has moved to stand at her elbow, a presence that steadies her.

The Commander opens his mouth to speak, but she won't let him. Savra's voice rises as she continues. "Or what about Enchanter Devin, who spent a week's worth of lessons hollow-eyed and weeping because his little brother failed his Harrowing?"

Savra takes a long, deep breath. "You never put me through the Harrowing," she growls, voice low. "Afraid you couldn't handle a Qunari abomination?" With a shake of her head, she steps back from the table. "You feared me, more than any other mage in that shithole. You thought the mere sight of me could provoke the Arishok to war." Her lip curls. "Why didn't you just kill me and dispose of the body? It would have been easier."

In the pregnant silence that follows, Cullen finally speaks. "Because wholesale murder was never our cause."

Savra snorts, her fury crashing down on her again. "There is a mountain of ghosts that would disagree with you. The Chantry rests on a foundation of mage's corpses."

"I know." Cullen's quiet admission is more than she expected, and Savra's angry momentum falters. He continues, voice low. "I could reply with the names of my brethren who died in Kinloch Hold at the claws of abominations. But it doesn't justify what happened in Kirkwall. Nothing can, or will." He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry for what happened there, that I did not stop it when I had the power to." When he opens his eyes, a shadow lingers within them. "I regret it, every day."

"Good," Savra hisses. "I hope you see their faces when you close your eyes. I hope the screams and sobs I heard daily from my room still haunt your nightmares every night." Seething, she grips the table again, her fingers hurting from it. "They won't let me kill you," she snarls. "But I can't live in the same walls with you ever again." She turns her head to look at Kashek. Her brother's face is creased with worry lines, his jaw clenched tightly.

"It was good to see you again," she tells him quietly, trying to smile and failing. "I'll send word, wherever I end up. After visiting mom, I think."

"Don't go," Kashek says.

Her laugh is sharp, harsh. "Will you make him leave? I'll never feel safe if he's here."

"I won't harm you," Cullen says. "You have my word."

Savra doesn't even bother looking at the Commander when she replies. "Your word is worth less than a sack of horse shit to me, Templar." She shakes her head, stares into Kashek's eyes. "So is it him or me?"

His answer is plain on his face. Her big brother is still looking out for her, and he'll tear down part of what he's so painstakingly built, just on her word.

Before he can speak, the Ambassador politely clears her throat. "I'm afraid that would be disastrous for our cause," she says, voice laced with sympathy but still firm. "The Commander is the backbone of our military forces, and its public face. If he leaves, it would weaken our position in the Game. So soon before Celene's ball, it may be the factor that tips many possible allies still yet undecided."

"Also," the Spymaster adds, "Some of our soldiers will follow him. It will split our forces when we need them most."

Kashek grits his teeth. He wants to argue, Savra can tell. There's a particular flare to his nostrils when he's ready to dig in his heels. But it's a battle he'll lose. He may stand at the Inquisition's head, but they'll mutiny if he defies his council on something this crucial.

"I'll go," Savra says, voice clipped. "I won't share another breath of air in the same room as him. Come visit me when this is all over."

When her hand is on the knob, Kashek blurts out, "A few days. Just stay that long."

Savra turns to decline, but the Spymaster interrupts her. "Commander, perhaps you could take some of our troops on a field training exercise for a few days?"

"There are some new recruits who could use a week in the Frostbacks to toughen them up." His voice is carefully steady, cautious. "We could be out the gates at dawn tomorrow."

Kashek stares at her with hopeful eyes. "A week," Savra concedes, "but that is all."

Her brother's smile is still as gentle as it was when they were children, the small curl of his lips as if he's afraid to break into a full grin. "Thank you." He follows her as she stalks out the door, through the Ambassador's study. "I'll give you a tour, introduce you to a few friends. There's one I think you should meet. He's very good at making upset people feel better."

Savra snorts. "It wouldn't the be the source of the spicy cologne I smelled in your room, would it?"

Her brother's steps falter for a moment, and his cheeks flush vivid pink again. "Um." He gives her a sheepish glance as they push through another doorway. "Not this one, no. I'll tell you about that later." Still, his grin widens. It's a smile she knows well, the same one she used to get when she thought about Enchanter Teylin, before the Templars found out and sent the elf away to Ostwick. The memory stings, a final tearful farewell hastily said through the small window in her locked door, the woman's hand so tiny clasped in her own.

Savra had been to Ostwick since, or what was left of it. Teylin left when the Circles fell, and no one knew where she had gone. Another crime heaped on the Chantry's plate, the ragged edge of their relationship never to receive a proper conclusion, always left as a 'what if'.

Still, it helps untangle the knot of anger in her, seeing that same smitten grin on Kashek's face.

"Then who's this mysterious stranger I'm supposed to meet?"

"First, I'll show you around and we'll make a visit to the tailors. And the armory, if you're interested in new gear. Then I'll introduce you. He's... unique. His name's Cole."

 

* * *

 

"So you know how to use that sparkly stick for anything other than magic?" The deep, resonant voice startles Savra out of her reverie as she leans on a battlement to watch the sun set. It still fills her with an awe and peace, no matter how often she watches the sun rise and fall. She'd spent far too many days and years of her life indoors, away from the sky.

She turns to the speaker. Another Qunari, even taller than she is and with the mass to match. It's the first time in her adult life she's had to look upward to meet someone's eyes; Kashek is of a height with Savra, even fully-grown. Even if he didn't tower over her, the qunari mercenary before her would still be intimidating. His stance is relaxed and nonthreatening, deliberately so.

The wide spread of his horns and his eyepatch give away his identity.

"The Iron Bull, I suppose?" She arches an eyebrow at him, a frown curving her lips.

"In the flesh," he agrees, leaning casually against the wall beside her, a cautious arm's length away. "You didn't answer my question. You actually know how to fight with that thing?"

She scowls at him. "Maybe," she lies. "Why does it matter to you, anyway? Afraid you'll have to take me on? Don't you want me in chains, bound, and with my mouth sewn shut?" Her lip curls in a snarl as she hisses, "I'd think you'd want a mage to remain powerless and crippled, rather than arming them with more weapons."

The Iron Bull shrugs. "The Qun doesn't want mages powerless, they want them controlled. But I'm not of the Qun anymore." The words leave his lips with a grimace. "Tal-Vashoth." He says it like an epithet, foul and derogatory.

"So what, now you've instantly changed your view of mages because your people kicked you out?" She snorts. "Bullshit."

He's unfazed by her derision, turning to face the sunset and resting his forearms on the cool stone. "The truth? If you're going to be watching the Boss's back, you need to pull your weight. We're fighting Templars. Corrupted ones, yeah, but some of 'em can still stifle your magic. You need to be able to handle yourself in a fight without your spells if you have to. Which you will." He turns his head to look her in the eye. "I'll spar with you, but the staff isn't my weapon. You should talk to the Vint. I've watched him smack a demon's head clean off with that thing."

"Oh, goody," Savra mutters. She still doesn't know what to make of Kashek's choice of significant other. Her eyes narrow, and she meets Bulls eyes squarely. "You'll find I'm not as trusting as my brother. To be taught by a follower of the Qun who thinks I should be 'controlled' and the Tevinter as well? No thanks. Magisters wallow in corruption and blood magic."

"Funny, he says the same thing. Might have something to do with why he's here instead of there." Bull replies calmly. "Is your pride worth your brother's life? Because he _will_ take you with him if you want to go. If you don't have the chops, you could get him killed."

Savra grits her teeth in silence for a few moments. The slow-simmering anger that always lives inside her is roiling, aching to lash out. But he's right. It's not about her brother's dubious taste in allies. It's about keeping the idiot alive.

"Besides," Bull says casually as he pushes away from the wall. "It'd give you the chance to land a few blows on me, if you can. I get the feeling you'd enjoy that." He grins. "You've been spoiling for a fight since the second you walked through those gates, Asaaranda. I'm happy to give you one."

"How would you know?" she retorts, ignoring the nickname. _Thunderstorm_ , in Qunlat. "This is the first time I've even met you."

"Maybe, but you strutted in here and started snapping at everyone and everything. Word spreads quickly, and I listen. Your second day here and you already have a reputation," he notes calmly, raising his eyebrow. "Is it the one you want?"

"Maybe," Savra snaps back without thought. "Maybe I don't like people." It's a lie, of course. After so long kept locked away with only a few enchanters and hostile jailers as company, she aches for simpler interaction. It's been difficult to make friends on the road since Kirkwall fell, scraping by doing odd jobs for hire. She never bothered staying in one place long enough to befriend anyone. The Circles may have fallen, but the average person still fears mages and qunari both.

"Nah," Bull shakes his head. "I think it's because the Boss won't let you tear into the man you really want to hurt, so you lash out at everyone else instead. Makes you lonely, in the end." The Qunari stretches, massive arms raised above his head to display his bare chest and its heavy scattering of scars. He turns to walk away, but pauses. "I know what it's like, to need to smack someone or something around a bit, clear your head. You need to do that, you know where to find me."


End file.
